


Fireworks

by ech0ux



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, New Years, New York City setting, birthday present for a friend, shingeki no homo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ech0ux/pseuds/ech0ux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holidays are a nightmare for Jean, plagued by his family's guilt trips to come home as he's off in University making a life for himself. Every year he's left to his own devices; moping and walling in guilt he shouldn't have. Eren's party invitations are often rejected, but a certain freckled face at that party changes his mind to attend. Maybe New Year's isn't so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> This is an incredibly, inexcusably late gift for my friend Anne's birthday. Anne, dear, I hope you like this!

“Yeah, but you can’t justify it, Jaeger. Staying up until midnight, filling yourself up to the brim with alcohol, and making drunken promises to yourself you don’t intend to keep past January. It’s bullshit, is what it is.” Jean’s lower lip unknowingly jutted into a juvenile pout as he sighed, dejected, into his phone nestled snugly between his shoulder and his ear. “I know, but—thank you, you have a good day too—I don’t see the point. Why do we put so much emphasis on bettering ourselves because the earth completed its revolution around the sun? I was younger yesterday than today, might as well start then while I’m still limber. You know, before my age _really_ sets into my bones.”

The Starbucks on 405 Broadway, sandwiched between China Town and Little Italy, was frequented by Jean, and all of the employees knew him by name. At nineteen, he was straddling the uncomfortable line between legal and adult, stumbling blindly through the perilous world of taxes, voting, and student loans. Having been enrolled in university for the last two years, he learned quickly why marketing techniques always aimed at establishing coffee houses near areas where continuing education students populated. Even now while he was enjoying his days out of the classroom, the regular stimulant intake was unavoidable. Addiction in its simplest form, though Jean would call it ‘coping’.

The December air lashed out against Jean’s face as he exited the cozy building, and he wrinkled his nose against the biting winds as the warm aroma of coffee faded behind him into the sharp scent of winter. His gloved hands clutched a steaming peppermint-caffeinated-something-or-other, and walking down the postcard streets forced the New York prissiness on him. Blond fringe peeking out beneath the hat holding his warmth in tickled his forehead as the wind played along his skin; icy tendrils ripping shivers through every disc in his spine. “Yeah? He’s asking about me? Hmph. It doesn’t change my feelings on the matter. Maybe I’ll come to your shitty party, you angry, uncoordinated bitch. I’ll be around.”

A soft laugh left his mouth, imprinting the cold air with a white plume as the snow caked on the bottoms of his boots crunched in a way more satisfying than stepping on the dry leaves littering the sidewalk during autumn. Jean’s phone was tucked snugly into his pocket once he’d ended the call, and the coffee cup touched his wind ravaged lips; pulling a deeply satisfied sigh out of his mouth.

“Maybe.” He mumbled to himself with a sip of the hot drink, feeling the warmth slither down his esophagus and bloom into a weed that engulfed his body in a seasonally appropriate peppermint warmth. The festivities of the holiday season had already come and gone for Jean, because generally speaking, he wasn’t one to be called jolly. New Year’s was the last hump he needed to feign a smile through before he could return to the usually sarcastic, always-getting-on-Eren’s-case Jean he was comfortable exuding every day. He wanted to love the holiday season, wanted to adore spending some well-deserved time off from his taxing college classes with friends, but the smothering reminders of holiday cheer littering every store window and radio station had taken on a bitter association with his less than supportive family.

Every year it was the same routine, the same expected disappointment. He saw it coming as the calendar days melted away into a bitter December, but it was never any less pleasant. No matter how many times he promised himself it wouldn’t bother him, Jean was never any less sensitive about the matter. It always started with a phone call Christmas morning, where his mother’s shrill voice on the other end would sound thick and broken; stirring up a sickening guilt in the pit of his stomach. She’d whine into the receiver about how difficult life was without him there to work full-time, and how hard she’d been working at her two menial part-time jobs to support his dad and sister. She’d tell him in explicit detail the extent to which the bills piled up, about how unhappy his sister was without her older brother there to buy her luxuries they could no longer afford, how much she missed it when the dishes were cleaned and put away, when the floors were swept or vacuumed, when the house was dusted and his sister wasn’t costing the family more money because she needed allergy pills.

Every word she said was like a pair of venomous fangs sinking greedily into his skin, filling him with poison that eroded his heart and sent cold numbness into lightless tunnels that found their way into his heart. It was a blatant, painful reminder that Jean’s family didn’t really miss him; they missed their bank, their maid, their chauffer, and their full-time, unpaid babysitter. He had never really been much more than that to them, he knew from a young age, but he wanted to think his parents loved their son.

But he knew that they only loved when he was home to take care of the chores none of them wanted to take care of. They loved the idea of him, not the embodiment of a boy who’d grow up handsomely into a man. Jean knew he had struck an irreparably sour chord in his father when he said he’d rather eat a whole cactus than join the military, and when he had gotten the acceptance letter into a University where he’d be an art major, the damage became permanent. Jean knew if he spent the rest of his life making his family happy, there’d be no room to make himself happy. That was not the life he wanted to live, not the life he had asked for, and he’d rather deal with the stress of drowning in student debt than drowning under waves of depression from his family’s constant demanding of their housewife.

It seemed like he wasn’t meant to be happy for more than a few months out of the year, because most holidays held an ominous warning that the phone was bound to ring with heartbreak waiting viciously on the other end of the line. Jean knew he should be living it up with his friends, enjoying his time in University before he would be left looking back and wondering why he hadn’t taken all the chances that had been waved in his face; kind of like his underwear had been after that one time he left it in the dorm bathroom following a drunken night at Annie’s flat. He was constantly second guessing himself, and Jean blamed his unhappiness on the constant reminder from his family that, unless he was waiting on them and serving their needs, he was useless.

Clutching the white paper cup in his cold hands, Jean forced himself to shake his head; removing the parasitic memories from clinging hungrily to him. This holiday was the one he’d spent years of his life looking forward to enjoying, even if it was only a fictitious hope that watching the clock strike midnight with good friends and watered down beer would wash away nineteen years of disappointment and guilt ridden anxiety that sent him to wallow in despair before the clock struck ten. He wanted to promise to himself that wallowing wouldn’t happen this year, but he’d need a little encouragement.

Retrieving the phone from his pocket, Jean quickly scrolled through the favourites in his contact list, touching the name of the one person who always brightened his dark days. With the speaker pressed snugly to his ear, two rings echoed out from the other end, followed with a chipper, “Jean! Hi!”

A small smile crept onto Jean’s chapped lips, and he felt warmth spread through his chest; evoking another bloom of pleasantness, sans peppermint. “Marco, hey. Sorry to bother you, but can I ask something?”

“Yeah, of course! Just hang on one second, alright? I’m helping Eren set things up.”

“Sure.” Jean tucked the phone in between his shoulder and ear once more, taking a sip of the suddenly lukewarm drink. The cold weather had permeated the cup like it was nonexistent, cooling the drink to a temperature less than satisfactory on the lips. He cleared his throat from the sour warmth, listening as Marco laughed while Eren’s angry voice swore at whatever task they were doing to prepare for the party.

“Okay! Hey again. Eren couldn’t get the balloons to inflate. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Ah,” a sudden nervousness oozed into Jean, and he ended up clearing his throat to fill the silence of the pause he took to collect his thoughts. “Are you going to be at the party tonight? The one Eren is hosting?”

“But of course.” Marco laughed flippantly into the speaker, and the blond on the other end found himself grinning cheekily. “I wouldn’t spend nearly the whole day helping Eren keep his cool to not show up.”

“True enough. So, what time does that whole thing go down?”

“Wait, are you actually _coming_ to this party, Jean?” The shock feigned in Marco’s tone was worth an eye roll, but Jean opted to save that for Marco in person.

“I was considering the idea. But I don’t know. I’m not really what you’d consider to be a party animal.”

“Well, the party starts at eight, in a half hour or so. It goes until the last person goes home or crashes at Eren’s place. You don’t have to stay the whole night, Jean. I mean, I’d really like to see you here. Even if you came at ten to midnight and stayed for the ball drop, it’d be nice.”

“Huh.” Was all Jean could mutter at Marco’s words, feeling a sudden excitement for a party he’d been telling Eren since Thanksgiving to shut the fuck up about. With Marco all but asking Jean to the party, he felt inclined to attend. “Well, I’m going to go home and get ready I suppose.”

“So you _are_ coming then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the info, Marco. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay, Jean! I’m going to help with last minute party preparation. Let me know when you decide to come.”

“Mmhm, bye Marco.”

 “Bye!” Jean pulled the phone away from his ear, ending the call with a disgruntled sound. His anxiety began to prod annoying at him, filling his previously encouraged thoughts with doubts he’d be too upset from the phone call he was sure to get from home to enjoy himself. The thoughts were a regular intrusion that tended to strictly follow an impromptu burst of happiness, and the general sadness that followed worked like clockwork. Marco’s voice still lingered in his ears, and a frown set itself into Jean’s lips.

“Not this year,” He murmured to himself with determination; quickening pace down the snow covered sidewalk to his dorm. Marco had said a half an hour, and Jean wanted to be appropriately suited for a party by then; both in dress and attitude.

The walk back to his dorm took about fifteen minutes, and by the time Jean had trudged through the warm halls to his room, he was cherry-cheeked with blond bangs clinging to his sweaty forehead. The hat had been removed once he’d entered the building, but he was dressed for a slow meandering in bitter weather that didn’t suit his speedy pace on the way home. A shower and change of clothes were in order, which Jean opted for the idea to be fashionably late and really clean himself up.

A quick shower in the dorm’s bathroom refreshed Jean, taking away the stench of exertive sweat and leaving him coated in the scent of body wash once complimented on by Marco. His cheeks were still airbrushed with a pink flush, though it became less of a concern when he got an eyeful of his towel-dried mop of hair. It stuck up at awkward and comical angles, which would be permanent if left to dry. His fingers dipped into the wet locks, pulling down with mild pressure to get the strands to lay against his scalp. A good finger combing calmed his wild hair down, and he ran a bit of gel through for good measure.

While he wouldn’t admit it, Jean was on a quest to impress. His presence at the party would be impressive in itself, but he wanted to impress Marco specifically. Jean had known Marco since the first day of freshman year, and they became instant friends. Maybe it was Marco’s personality that drew him in; the constant smiles that lit up his face and caused the smallest crinkle at the corner of his eyes. Maybe it was the way he would unabashedly wrap his long arms around Jean when the blond needed a shoulder to cry on. The way he listened unconditionally, when he took Jean out for dinner on days he knew the other hadn’t been eating well, the surprise nights in Marco would spring on Jean when he was overwhelmed from class; it all added up over the last two years.

The kindness Jean had been given spawned an affinity for Marco’s company, which had festered and soon become an affinity for Marco himself. Jean craved the company of tan skin endowed with a galaxy of freckles, short brown hair he’d playfully ruffle, and the musical laughter that followed the action. Jean craved the nights where he’d fall asleep midway through a movie with his head on Marco’s shoulder, only to wake up the next morning and find the other’s arm holding their unconscious bodies together through the night. He craved the dinner dates where they’d get cheap food at a local joint, flirting playfully as they bumped knees or touched hands just enough to send Jean’s heart on a trip.

Jean had known for the last year, if not longer, how cliché it was he had gone ahead to follow through with the whole, ‘fall in love with your best friend at college’ trope. It was almost laughable, ironically so, how much he thought about Marco. Every party he’d skipped out on to wallow in his own morbid feelings, every denied invitation to the movies, every unanswered text asking what his plans were had been chalked up to the whole reason why Marco didn’t seem to pick up on every hint Jean dropped like a two ton weight. The subtle way he’d lean in closer to Marco while they watched a movie together, the bumping of knees, or brushing their hands, when he’d run his fingers through Marco’s hair while listening to him talk about a bad day; all hints Jean had wanted Marco to read as what they were intended to convey.

But the reactions from Marco, on all occasions, seemed too platonic to indicate a reciprocation of feelings. Jean was worried he would spend the rest of his university career fawning over somebody who had no idea to the extent in which he was fancied, and he’d end up settling when the loneliness got the best of him. He wanted to be with Marco enough that the thoughts infiltrated his dreams, and he woke up on numerous occasions feeling dirty and nearly unable to meet Marco’s eyes later on.

Jean sighed to himself, patting the remaining droplets of water off of his bare skin as he refocused to the task at hand. He wondered whether he’d be able to face Marco after drinking; which he fully intended to do for the sake of numbing the sour Christmas feelings still lingering inside of him. He tended to ooze honesty while inebriated, and after holding his feelings in so long, he feared a cathartic expulsion of more than just his stomach contents.

Pressing his face into the damp towel, Jean whined pitifully; muffling the sound with the soft fabric. He tossed the towel aside once he was through with expressing his agitation, walking naked across the dorm to his closet. He made quick work of throwing on some undergarments and a pair of nice dark jeans, and began the struggle for finding just the right shirt. He wanted something flattering, though nothing too fancy; considering all of Eren’s parties came with a casual dress code.

Rifling through the shirts hanging lifelessly in his closet, Jean contemplated shirt after shirt; unaware to the amount of time he was wasting. While he wasn’t incredibly fussy about his hair, he tended to fuss needlessly about his outfit, even on days he wasn’t doing anything more than going to class. Now he was displaying even more fussiness than usual, putting fashion over function when he tossed out the notion of wearing a hat because it would ruin his hair he’d worked so little on.

Standing shirtless in his dorm, Jean eventually found himself more frustrated than anything, and grabbed for a simple grey shirt to wear under a plaid button down he knew looked at least somewhat decent on him. It was better than burning more time, he realized with a quick glance to his phone, that he didn’t have; and he might make up for the casual, somewhat unimpressive shirt in scent. A quick spritz of his cologne, slipping his feet into the trusty boots that kept his feet an acceptable standard of warm and dry, and donning of a coat left Jean to grab his keys and head out the door.

Eren’s apartment was about two blocks away from the campus, and now that the sun had gone down, the biting cold dug its teeth in Jean’s skin and didn’t let go. He pulled the coat around himself tighter, hoping to vacuum seal in whatever body heat he had left. He tried to walk as fast as he could without getting too terribly sweaty, even with the cold.

By the time Jean’s numb hand knocked on Eren’s door, he had removed his coat, and was standing in the freezing hallway of his flat. He could feel the redness on his ears and his cheeks; and he could only hope that he wouldn’t look as pathetic as he felt standing and shivering in that hallway.

Pushing his hands deeply into his pockets, Jean listened to the sound of the door being unlocked, only to be greeted with Marco’s smiling face. “Jean!” He said excitedly, throwing his lanky arms around the other, nearly knocking them off balance. “I’m so glad you came!”

Jean awkwardly wrapped on arm back around Marco’s body, hugging as best he could while trying to maintain his balance. “Yeah, hey, Marco. Sorry I’m late.”

“No, no! You’re not too late! Come on in, Eren’s pouring drinks.” Marco unwound his arms from around Jean, grabbing for his hand and pulling him inside. Marco’s skin against his was warm and welcome, and Jean’s heart jumped rope inside of his chest. He gave the other’s hand a little squeeze, and Marco looked over his shoulder to give Jean a cheeky smile.

The inside of Eren’s flat seemed to have shrunk in size drastically; the ceiling covered in a thick sea of multicolour balloons, streamers and confetti littering the floor and furniture, and a large expanse of food and alcohol swallowing up any and all counter space. Loud music thundered from an expensive looking stereo pushed safely into a corner, and Jean felt overwhelmed by the sea of people Marco was leading him right into.

“Jean! Hey, let me have your coat!” Marco shouted over the music and voice floating around them, the sheer volume of it all deafening. “I’ll put it with the others!”

“Uh, okay, thanks.” Jean let go of Marco’s warm hand, handing over the coat as he stood off towards the fridge where Connie had his girlfriend, Sasha, pinned against the counter. They were both smiling widely, Sasha’s fingers rubbing over Connie’s shaved head as he leant in to pepper playful kisses on her face. Jean found himself smiling at the exchange, though forced his eyes elsewhere. Sure they were the ones being so affectionate in the open, but he didn’t want to be the awkward guy who watched creepily over couples; that was a bad rap he couldn’t afford to have. Eren had already stuck him with the antisocial shut-in card.

Leaning more towards the kitchen wall, Jean let his eyes run over the party scene. Eren was nowhere in sight, and it was a bit difficult to distinguish faces under the dim lighting, but Jean could guess who was here based on who frequented his social circle.

As Jean looked over pulsating mass of bodies talking and dancing, he was startled when a hand touched his arm, drawing his attention away. Looking over his shoulder, Jean was met with Marco’s boyish grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he leant in towards Jean. “Hey! Do you want to dance with me?” His voice rose above the level of noise, though Jean was sure he would be the only one who heard it.

“I…” He paused, looking at Marco’s sparkling sienna eyes, and finding the corners of his lips pulling upwards into a grin. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

Marco’s face lit up like a fireworks display, and the way he impatiently tugged Jean towards the open living room floor where other partygoers were dancing made him laugh freely. His heart fluttered uncontrollably, and Jean found himself standing face to face with Marco amidst other bodies moving with the flow of some nameless earworm bellowing out of the stereo.

Marco put his arms on Jean’s shoulders, interlacing them loosely behind his neck. His caramel skin was hot against Jean’s own pale skin, and it felt slightly sticky from a light sheen of sweat that glistened beneath the dim lights. Jean wasn’t sure how far Marco was willing to go, and so he put his hands tentatively on the other’s hips, feeling the heat from below the soft fabric of his Henley radiate into his still cold hands.

Their bodies swayed rhythmically to the beat of the music, and Jean could feel the sheer heat from Marco permeating his skin. The way the other smiled, his impeccably white teeth flashing, lit up Marco’s whole face, and Jean wanted to pull him even closer. He felt lucid, almost like he was caught in a dreamlike trance that guided his body without his brain’s consent. Every sway of their bodies sunk his brain into a deep state of intoxication, and he hadn’t even had any alcohol yet.

“Having fun?” Marco asked above the music as he guided their bodies in a comfortable swaying.

“Yeah, definitely.” Jean answered, smiling at Marco genuinely. “I’m glad I came.”

Marco nodded, never wiping that stupid grin Jean loved off of his face. “I am too.”

Jean let his inhibitions go with Marco, letting his hands wrap tighter around his waist, pulling their bodies closer together. He swayed with the other, letting the music guide his actions as he was swallowed under the sea of music and voices, and it was easy to find he could focus only on Marco being so close to him. He was surrounded by Marco’s scent; something smoky that belonged to his cologne, and the faint scent of sweat that clung to his skin.

Marco rested his head against Jean’s shoulder, a happy smile engraved blatantly onto his flushed lips. The longer they stayed together, wrapped in each other as they swayed with the music, the more the distractions outside of their little bubble seemed to disappear. Time melted away into the background as Jean danced with the one person he was convinced he was in love with, and his heart began to send a delicious warmth through his body; an engulfing flame he tasted on the back of his tongue.

By the time the rest of the party came back into focus for Jean, a sheen of sweat was sparkling on his skin, and he felt slightly overdressed for such a warm atmosphere. Marco had begun to pull away, leaving the blond drunk on his sheer closeness. “Jean—do you want to grab a drink? I’m kind of tired now.” He laughed cutely in Jean’s ear, making the other nod; albeit, too eagerly.

Their bodies parted, and Jean found himself being led through a sea of bodies by Marco’s guiding hand. He brought the blond to a countertop littered with red plastic cups, and picked up two without hesitation; handing one over for Jean to take. Their hands parted for a moment, but after they were both situated with an alcohol fix, Marco’s fingers were brushing Jean’s easily.

“What is it?” Jean asked, the scent of alcohol in the cup lessened by the overwhelming scent of coca cola.

“A mixed drink. I think there might be vodka in there? I don’t know for sure.” Marco shrugged, taking a sip, and contorting his features like he’d been assaulted by something viciously bitter. “Wo-oah. Yeah, that’s definitely vodka.”

Jean couldn’t help but laugh at Marco’s precious reaction, but he was a somewhat shocked to see somebody he viewed as the poster child for innocence taking down something as potent as vodka. “I didn’t know your drank, Marco.” He admitted, taking a sip of the strong drink, though seeming unfazed. Jean was no stranger to alcohol, and this was nothing new to him.

“I only do for holidays.” He admitted, shrugging. “I don’t like to get _drunk_ but a little buzz is okay in my book.”

“Mmhm,” Jean said, nonchalantly, feeling the warmth from Marco’s closeness and the alcohol floating around in his system mixing and mingling, making him dizzy with the pleasant feelings.

“Where have you been lately, Jean?” Marco asked after a brief lull between them, his sienna eyes curious as they met Jean’s hazel pair. “I’ve missed you.”

Jean wanted to rub the back of his neck, but instead he took hold of Marco’s fingers between his own. The other seemed unaffected, and Jean sighed. “Ah, I’m sorry. I’ve been caught up in family drama and schoolwork. It’s been a long couple of weeks for me.”

Marco nodded understandingly, leaning in towards the blond. “Well, you should call me more if you’re struggling. You know I’m willing to listen and help you in any way that I can.”

“I know, Marco. I’ll call more often from now on.” An apologetic smile grazed Jean’s lips, and Marco rolled his eyes, nudging Jean playfully.

By the time they had both downed their drinks, they had once again lost track to time- as if they knew what it was to begin with –and had both grabbed a second cup when Eren turned the stereo down, and the television up. “Alright, everybody. We’re about to enter a new year the same way anybody who was at my party last year did; rip roaring drunk and ready for their kiss!” A tan arm wound around the petit waist belonging to a petit blond, and Jean recognized the figure as Eren’s longtime boyfriend and conscious; Armin Arlert.

Jean could almost feel the heat from Armin’s cheeks across the room, and it made him laugh. A warm alcohol buzz was running laps around his body, and Jean felt better than he had since November. Maybe it was from the alcohol, maybe it was the atmosphere, or maybe it was Marco; but whatever the cause, Jean was enjoying it fully.

“Oh, Jean, they’re going to drop the ball!” Marco said excitedly, pulling the other’s lanky frame along to crowd around the small television set. “This is my favourite part about New Year’s.”

Jean was never one for grandeur celebrations of the passing of time- be it New Year’s Eve or his birthday –but this year was different. He’d forced himself out of the holiday slump, and it led him into Marco’s arms, dancing and drinking with the one person whose very presence could get his heart racing.

Fireworks began exploding outside and through the televisions surround sound as the ball lowered slowly, slowly down. “Get ready for the countdown!” Eren’s very obviously drunken voice called over his guest’s excitement.

Marco wound an arm around Jean’s waist as he set his drink down, and Jean looked over at him curiously. Marco’s eyes were locked on the television screen; his face lighting up with each explosion of colourful fireworks welcoming in the new day, the new year.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!” Marco’s arm tightened around Jean’s waist, but the blond’s eyes never left the excited, freckled face.

“Six!” Connie and Sasha had already begun kissing, and Armin was pushing Eren away playfully as he made ridiculous kissing faces at the shorter male.

“Five!” Marco turned to face Jean, an eager smile plastered on his lips.

“Four!” A warm hand met Jean’s cheek, gingerly turning his head so two pairs of eyes met; seeing nothing but one another.

“Three!” Fireworks erupted deafeningly outside, and Marco seemed to be inching closer to Jean than he could ever recall.

“Two!” In an instant, Jean could feel Marco’s breath on his lips, faintly taste the other’s mouth as a new and foreign taste that danced along his taste buds. The blond’s lids began lowering over his eyes, and his heart rammed against his ribcage with the force he’d recognized as painful excitement.

“One!!” Marco’s lips met Jean’s eagerly, welcoming in the New Year with fireworks in his stomach. Still clutching his drink, Jean wrapped his arms around Marco, his lips hungrily kissing the other back. This was all he could remember wanting for the longest time, and finally, _finally,_ he could taste Marco’s soft lips on his own. Fireworks exploding outside threw colourful splashes over their bodies, and Jean watched as colour erupted behind his eyelids.

They didn’t part until after the cheering from their fellow partygoers had stopped and been replaced with the sounds of kissing and downed drinks, Marco tugging lightly at Jean’s lower lip. Jean lifted his lids, finding the most boyish grin on Marco’s flushed lips. Heat rushed to Jean’s face and neck, coating him in a pink flush that warmed him from the core outwards.

“Happy New Year, Jean.” Marco beamed at the stunned blond, licking playfully over his lips. “I’ve been waiting for that for so long. I’m so glad you came tonight, or I may never have been able to work up the courage to do that.”

Jean’s only reply was an explosive smile lighting up every one of his features that prefaced pulling the other in by the shirt collar, and returning the warm wish.

**Author's Note:**

> I ate an entire bag of Goldfish crackers by myself while writing this. I think I need to rethink my life choices.


End file.
